Wake
by asomyrcal
Summary: Complete: One-Shot - They are opposites and opposites attract.


**Title**: Wake

**Fandom**: 07-Ghost  
**Pairing(s)**: Hyuuga x Ayanami  
**Warnings**: Mild implications of questionable activities.

**Synopsis:** They are opposites and opposites attract.

He simply watches the silver-haired man asleep beside him, fingers ghosting teasingly over pale skin, careful not to wake him – Ayanami is exhausted, it has been days since he last slept and during the last meeting the man had been on his feet by sheer will alone – because the Chief of Staff desperately needs what little sleep he allows himself and Hyuuga know better than to try and disturb him.

That man's features aren't relaxed, not even when he's fast asleep, brows knitted together in a frown that never seems to leave, not even for a moment.

So he sits and watches him sleep; he's done this a thousand times ever since his superior has allowed him the slight semblance of proximity, Ayanami is a solitary creature by choice and not circumstance.

Sometimes, he wonders, wonders if the man lying asleep there is aware of the shaded crimson gaze that watches him from the shadows, wonders if Ayanami is aware that the times he sleeps are the times Hyuuga doesn't, wonders if his superior will ever fully let his guard down when he sleeps. He admits, but never out loud – they are soldiers, and they truly cannot afford to play this game, but yet they do, this teasing cat-and-mouse distraction they engage in all the time – that there are times he feels a vague (or is it?) sense of affection towards the normally stoic man consigned to slumber's embrace at his side.

Callused fingers gently brush against high cheekbones, feeling pale skin flushed with a barely-there hint of fever, only to withdraw when tired violet slide open just a fraction to stare blearily at him, the weariness clear in those sleep-hazed eyes.

It is only then that the swordsman realizes, it isn't just exhaustion that shows in those now unguarded eyes – there is a myriad of emotions there in those violet eyes that Ayanami will never show to the rest of the world – and for the first time in forever he realizes that even though that man is a death god sealed in a human form, he is still after all, human and painfully mortal. He doesn't carry the scars, but Hyuuga knows where they are, knows they are there, hidden under pale skin and the cloak of black and gold.

A second blink brings alertness back into those eyes as Ayanami stirs, looking entirely disheveled and unlike the normally composed Chief of Staff that the rest of the world sees. It makes Hyuuga grin just a little wider, shifting slightly to pin the disorientated man down as he tries to sit up, the cheeky look on his face promising some sort of questionable mischief.

Sometimes Hyuuga likes to think, perhaps the only one who has seen this side of the stoic commanding officer is him, all of his vulnerability and humanity laid bare, guarded by zealous crimson and a wicked smile. Maybe he is, he muses, studying the man pinned beneath him – Ayanami had removed his glasses earlier, those dark glasses now lay abandoned on the desk somewhere – those blood-red eyes almost predatory in their gaze.

Almost.

The Chief of Staff still seems groggy with sleep, even though those violet eyes reveal that the man is much more alert than he seems. The crease between his brows seem to have lessened just a little; there are still shadows of it remaining, but at least the man isn't openly frowning as he had been earlier.

Hyuuga feels the touch of cold fingers brush against his cheek, creeping up just a little higher to trace along the edge of his ear. Ayanami's hands are ice, and it makes him reach up, his own fingers entwining with those frigid digits. The touch reminds him how different they are, almost like fire and ice, and he knows, opposites attract, of course they do.

His lips taste of blood and ice and remnants of bittersweet wine, and Hyuuga grins when those drowsy violet eyes snap open, glaring at him – but there is no malice or anger in them, only a resigned acceptance – as he pulls away.

"Go back to sleep."

Ayanami's voice betrays the creeping exhaustion as the man shifts slightly, movements restricted slightly by his subordinate's weight atop of him, keeping him pinned – it's not really necessary, considering how drained the Chief of Staff is – shifting his gaze away from unshaded crimson. The mischievous grin has not faded, but Ayanami apparently isn't in the mood for any more games.

He looks overworked and almost vulnerable, even though deep within his soul is the memory of a thousand years of hatred and searching.

It's rare that the silver-haired man will let a challenge to his authority go unchecked, and Hyuuga considers pushing his luck just a little, even though he knows he really should let the silver-haired man sleep just a little longer, he can't help but want to tease another reaction out of the Chief of Staff the way he always does.

It is their game of pretend, the delicate balance between them that neither will really ever try to upset.

Before the thought can be completed, those chilly fingers that have found their way to his cheek loops around his neck – and he shudders slightly at the cold digits against sensitive skin – and tugs the dark-haired swordsman back down onto the bed. They end up in a tangle of sheets and limbs, and Hyuuga takes the chance to press a second kiss against his superior's lips.

The light nip he gets in return tells him that this time, Ayanami is awake for sure, tasting copper as he pulls away. There is blood against pale skin and cracked lips, and he reaches up, touching a callused finger to the warm liquid.

So much for getting away with challenging the Chief of Staff's authority.

"You're being ridiculous."

Hyuuga grins. He leaves a crimson streak against Ayanami's lip, finger trailing down to brush over his collarbone and the pale red bruises there. It makes the violet-eyed man raise an eyebrow slightly, and the swordsman takes it as silent permission to continue.

"You're not stopping me."

"Would you even listen?"

Ayanami's hand comes to rest against Hyuuga's chest, and Hyuuga knows that there is more strength in those slender fingers than his superior lets on. The Cheshire cat grin only widens, now there is more than just one person playing along and it can only get more interesting from here.

The hand against his chest suddenly shoves him off, and Hyuuga manages a startled gasp as he lands on his back beside his now somewhat disgruntled bed partner. Ayanami has turned away, pointedly ignoring the feigned hurt look that the swordsman gives him. The action itself makes Hyuuga chuckle, before reaching over to drape an arm across his superior's waist, pressing a light kiss against silver hair and pale skin.

"Good night, Aya-tan."

The only response Hyuuga gets this time, though, is a half-coherent murmur of acknowledgment.

**END**

**A/N:** Uh. This. Written 90% on a whim and without a coherent plot. As my cute Major puts it, it just accentuates Hyuuga's dorky cuteness. I wanted to try something where Ayanami's a little more human and Hyuuga's being his classic cheeky self. I dunno, it seems to have worked.


End file.
